


The Truth About Lace

by Elle_Song



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Fluff, Mild Smut, beginning relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 22:50:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1322170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elle_Song/pseuds/Elle_Song
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brienne rolled her eyes and felt herself blush. Damn him. “Jaime Lannister, give me back my sweatpants!” she growled. </p><p>“Now that was a sentence I never thought I’d hear from you!” he laughed, dancing away from her outstretched arms. “What exactly are you doing prancing around in panties anyway, Tarth?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Truth About Lace

'This is stupid,' Brienne thought to herself, fingers fidgeting against an edge of lace. 'Really, really stupid.'

With a sigh, she pushed her sweatpants down from her waist to her ankles, kicking them off of her feet. She stared down at her pale bare legs and white gym socks.

“Well, that’s not helping the matter,” she muttered to herself, bending over to pull off the offending socks. She had just flung the second sock away and was righting herself when she heard the distinct sound of a door, which she had been sure was locked, smashing open.

“Hey, Tarth!” A painfully familiar voice greeted. Brienne froze like a kid by the cookie jar, her entire thought process overtaken by a single word – Shit. 

The blond-haired, strong-jawed, know-it-all jerk standing in her doorway looked up and froze just as surely as she had. Even Jaime Lannister, the talking machine, had nothing to say when face to face with Brienne Tarth wearing only a sweatshirt and lace panties. He stared down, gaping like a cow chewing cud. 

“Close the door!” She managed to shout through her sheer mortification. And he did. Only when she’d said it she had sort of pictured him closing it with him on the other side. But of course he hadn’t just opened her door – this being Jaime Lannister he had opened it with a flourish, stepping straight across the threshold and waltzing on in before taking stock. When she’d told him to close it, he’d already been three feet inside the room. He did, however, manage to lock it with one hand behind his back, a feat she was clearly incapable of.

“Idiot!” She muttered, although whether this was to him or to herself it was hard to say. When he continued to not look away she picked up the nearest soft object and threw it at him. She grinned in satisfaction when it hit him right in the face. This joy was rather short-lived when she realized just what she’d thrown. Her sweatpants. Of course. 

“What exactly are you doing?” her teammate, rival, sometimes-enemy and occasional friend asked, holding the offending sweatpants out in front of him.

“Give those back,” she stammered, reaching for them. He immediately slipped the pants behind his back.

“No, I don’t think I will,” he grinned, “I’m rather enjoying the view.”

Brienne rolled her eyes and felt herself blush. Damn him. “Jaime Lannister, give me back my sweatpants!” she growled. 

“Now that was a sentence I never thought I’d hear from you!” he laughed, dancing away from her outstretched arms. “What exactly are you doing prancing around in panties anyway, Tarth?”

“I was in my own bedroom with the door closed,” she pointed out, still inching towards him. By now he had of course, unwittingly or not, placed himself exactly between her and her dresser, the current location of every pair of pants she owned. Brienne cursed herself for being so clean. One spare pair of jeans strewn across the floor would have really come in handy.

“That,” he said, leaning his face in towards hers while keeping his hand as far away as possible, “does not answer my question.”

She rolled her eyes, wanting to strong-arm him into returning the clothes but also not wanting to get close enough to make contact. Something warned her loud and clear to not let a boy like Jaime Lannister touch.

For a long time Brienne had hated her own prudish sensibilities, which seemed by now to be imbedded in her soul. 'Don’t touch men, don’t get to close, don’t listen to sweet words – when it comes to you they’re always lying.' She told herself that there was nothing wrong with flirting or kissing or sex but whenever she imagined herself doing those things she felt like she was ten-year-old schoolgirl being berated again. 

Brienne had learned early on that she was a disappointment as a girl – probably around the age of five when she’d accidentally muddied her dress playing soccer in the yard. This was after Brienne’s loving mother had died so it was a nanny that dragged her in by the ear, cleaning her skin with her hands while at the same time bruising Brienne’s heart with her condescending words. “As stupid as you are ugly” had been one of that particular nanny’s favorites. She must have said it to Brienne at least once a day. That was until Brienne’s father overheard her one time when he came home early from work, about a year after the dress incident. He had fired that nanny so fast that her ears were probably still ringing. But the damage was done. 

Brienne couldn’t pinpoint that one incident, or even string of incidents, as the root of her own sexual timidity and inner disappointment, but it certainly hadn’t helped the matter. The only competent way she knew how to interact with men now was on the soccer field. Other than that she was always blushing or muttering or now somehow accidentally ending up pants-less in front of Jaime Lannister. Her own weakness, and her own stupidity, annoyed her more than anything else. But she couldn’t figure out how to move past either of them.

Taking a step back and giving up on the tug-of-war over her sweatpants, Brienne attempted to cover the front of the troublemaking blue lace panties as best she could with her hands. Jaime continued his bright-eyed stare, pants held far away in his left hand and his right eyebrow raised. He was like a dog with a bone when it came to a chance to tease her, it seemed.

“Sansa made me buy them,” Brienne sighed. “We were out shopping and she said that just because I spend all my time in soccer wear doesn’t mean my clothes have to be all boy underneath, too.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. He lowered his arm a little but the sweatpants were still woefully far out of her reach. She sighed tightly and resigned herself to talking this one out. It was her least favorite way to solve a conflict.

“That does sound like her,” Jaime agreed with a nod. “This is what happens when you befriend fashion-forward freshman, Tarth. I could’ve called that one. Well, maybe not with this exact outcome…” He was looking at her funny again so she sighed loudly. When in doubt with Jaime, it was easiest to choose an exasperated expression.

“Yes, I’m glad you can commiserate so eloquently. Now, may I have my pants back?” To her eternal exasperation, he shook his head, light, golden hair bobbing.

“One more question. Sansa made you buy the panties, which I get, but why were you prancing around in them now? A little weird for three o’clock on a Sunday.”

“Stop saying that,” Brienne muttered darkly, “I was not prancing.” She felt herself blush deeper as she contemplated the real reason. Damn her uncontrollable physical reaction. There was no way he could miss that much pink on her pale complexion. She tried to will herself to stop, but if that worked then she never would’ve consciously blushed in her life.

Sometimes she felt like her body existed such as it was only to exasperate her in every possible way. Well, except on the field. Out there her height, weight and strength owned. It was only the other 90% of her life that she lived in constant discomfort. 

“I wanted to see them on me,” she said as matter-of-factly as she could manage, looking away from Jaime’s judging face. “I know they look stupid. They’re meant for cute, dainty girls. Like Sansa. Not big ugly oafs.” The ‘like me’ was so heavily implied she had to cough a little to keep from saying it.

Brienne really hadn’t been trying to throw a pity-party. It was just her frank assessment of her own physical attributes. Her legs, like the rest of her, were muscular. Her feet were a little on the bony side, with long toes. Her thighs were paler than her shins because while she wore shorts to practice sometimes, they always went down to at least her knees. Her upper thighs themselves were as thick as any boys’, and she was a little proud to say that that was almost entirely muscle on her part. 

She was never going to be attractive – genetics had predetermined that – so she had decided to be strong instead. Day, months, and years of hard work and sweat were needed to create the strength she enjoyed now. The only problem was, muscles and panties were not exactly a ‘cute’ combination.

“Do you wish you were dainty?” Jaime asked, his voice softer than she’d heard it in a long time. This was the other side of Lannister, after the bark and bite bits were stripped away. This was the calm demeanor he would break out whenever anyone on the team grew too upset, too distraught, at an outcome. 'It’s okay, we’ll play them again soon and we’ll kick their asses. We’ll practice harder - it’ll be different next time. Calm down. Deep breath. Hit the showers.' She still couldn’t bring herself to look at his stupid golden face with its stupid green eyes again. He’d never been ugly in his life. He looked handsome, striking, in every light and every mood she’d even seen him in. He could pretend to sympathize all he wanted but he’d never understand.

“Dainty?” she repeated. “No. That’s not who I am. But I wouldn’t mind being able to look at myself in a mirror while wearing clothes made for girls without wanting to be sick.” She glanced at the mirror across the room as she said this. When she’d removed her sweatpants in the first place, she’d fully intended to stand in front of her full-length mirror, whispering little platitudes to herself until she felt confident enough to wear lace without blushing. 

It was a stupid plan. Another one of Sansa’s, in fact. It had been part of her lecture on strength and beauty, the prelude to convincing Brienne to buy something besides cotton bulk underwear for the first time in her life. Twenty-one years was far too long to go without even trying something cute on. Brienne didn’t have to wear dresses if she didn’t want, Sansa had argued, but underwear was a private choice. This was her chance to just try something different, just for herself, and no one else would ever need to know or judge her for it. If she didn’t like it, she wouldn’t have to wear them again and no one would be the wiser. 

Well, that had been the plan at least. Only Brienne hadn’t even gathered up the courage to look in the mirror before Jaime interrupted. She glanced over at the rude offender this time, and to her shock, he actually looked away when she caught him staring, again. It wasn’t exactly in character for him to back down so quickly. He almost looked chastened.

He coughed to clear his throat before asking, “And what did you think when you looked this time?”

What was he, her therapist? “I didn’t get the chance to look before some asshole barged into my room.”

He laughed outright at that, eyes back to their usual twinkling. It was like watching light stream through a forest canopy, or something equally poetic. Who even had green eyes? Weren’t they a big genetic rarity? How many hereditary blessings was one man allowed?

“Fair enough. Get over here, then.” He gallantly moved a foot to the side, gesturing towards the mirror. Unfortunately, in her rather small college dorm room this still meant that Brienne had to shuffle directly alongside Jaime to reach it. They passed within six inches of each other. She had to grit her teeth to keep herself from flinching. Physical intimacy was... unsettling.

When she was in position, she assessed the reflection. Legs. Lace. And just as ridiculous as she had feared. She sighed a little noise of defeat. She was about ready to end this afternoon of mortification. Predictably, Jaime piped up again before she could turn away and insist on the return of her sweatpants. 

“It’s missing something,” he said.

“Yes, I know,” she replied. “Feminine legs.”

“No…” he shook his head, taking another step towards her. “It’s missing the top half!” As soon as he said this he lunged forward, quick, long fingers tickling at her sides until she was gasping for breath. 

Her only protests came in the form of a breathily whispered, “Lannister!” and a few half-hearted attempts to push him away. This, unsurprisingly, spurred him onward with a lascivious grin. Then his hands slipped under her shirt.

The feel of his fingers dancing across her bare stomach burned against her skin. She was surprised by his actions, but even more so by the startlingly pleasant shock it sent through her system.

“Wait!” she gasped as he began to raise the hem of her t-shirt and jacket simultaneously. Her clothes were so loose fitted that it wasn’t a difficult task – but it was one she had certainly never let anyone else attempt. Tough, ugly Brienne had never had a boyfriend who wasn’t pursuing her for bragging rights. She had learned that lesson the hard way. Now men didn’t get this close to her, ever. 

Jaime froze right as the cloth was slipping up past her navel. Then he waited, just like she’d asked. Their eyes met as she tried to catch her breath. Hers were their usual confused blue, unsure if he was playing a trick on her the way others had far less successfully tried. But his eyes looked open. Honest. Like he wasn’t mocking her, for once. No teasing words slipped from his lips. It was a miracle. Jaime Lannister, all shut up. 

Brienne wasn’t sure where this playtime was leading, but she wasn’t ready for this unexpectedly intimate game to end. She took one solid breath before giving him a nod. His hands moved instantly, caressing their way more boldly up her sides. When he reached her ribcage she raised her arms obligingly. She stomped down on the mental image of that disapproving nanny, hard. There was nothing wrong with cross-gender interactions. Not everyone was trying to trick. 

Jaime pulled the rest off quickly, leaving her bare, exposed, and indeed in one of the lacy bras Sansa had convinced her to try as well. It wasn’t a matched set – those had been way too expensive. The bottoms were solid blue, like her eyes, with a pattern of little white dots and matching white bows on the side. The top was lavender purple with white lace trim in the shape of vines. But they were equally girly, and both eons out of her comfort zone.

Once her hands were free of the sleeves and he’d flung the rest of her outfit off to gods knew where, she had the immediate urge to throw her own arms across her chest. She knew her breasts were small and plain, with a smattering of freckles. Even well-decorated, they weren’t much to look at. But she had made it this far.

Brienne clenched her fists at her side, slowly raising her eyes to the mirror. She was fulfilling a promise to herself, and to Sansa. That was all that this was.

She wasn’t beautiful. She had never been, and playing dress up wasn’t going to change that. But that was no great tragedy. She was smart. Strong. Honest. Honorable. Those were all titles infinitely more important to her than beauty. Beauty you could be born with. Her titles she had had to earn. But even so, she didn’t look as ridiculous as she’d feared. Her legs were still muscled but the slip of lace, with tiny accompanying bows, at the apex of her thighs was undeniably cute. It was the kind of girly thing that Brienne had occasionally admired and wondered about from afar. Whether watching TV, changing in the locker room or walking through a mall, Brienne had always felt estranged from girls who could wear such things. She’d never considered that she might become one of them. 

She glanced up further to admire the bra that she had noted before did make it somehow look like she had cleavage. It sort of looked good. The lavender color worked with her pale skin and she liked that the lacy part continued down to three inches below her bust. It almost looked like a crop-top corset. Her body definitely seemed more alive than it had in her regular gray sports bra. 

It was then, with a self-conscious smile forming on her lips, that she glanced through the mirror over at Jaime. He had moved to the side earlier to allow her better mirror access but remained remarkably close, just over her right shoulder. He was still staring, but not at her face. He didn’t look surprised or repulsed – he wasn’t even pulling off his usual indifferent smirk. His eyes were hooded, pupils round and dark. As she watched, a little edge of pink tongue slipped out to lick across his bottom lip. In that moment Brienne thought that Sansa Stark just might have been right about some of the magical properties of lacy underwear.

Brienne tried to imagine what it was Jaime was seeing to make a face like that. She looked down at her reflection again, imagining it through his eyes. Tight, muscled limbs. A strong stomach with a little six-pack that had taken her three months of focusing on abs to hone. Miles of pale, freckled, and bare skin with a little bit of lace covering. Her bra had its lace trim and decorations but it was a full, solid-colored cup, without too much padding. It had to be a little practical or she never would have agreed to it. Thus, parts considered private were modestly covered.

Working her eyes up her own body, legs-waist-arms-shoulders, she came back to her face. Strong chin, twice-broken nose, big blue eyes, fat pink lips, and a halo of straw-colored hair, vaguely damp from her last shower and curling slightly to brush her shoulders. She didn’t obsess the details. She has content with the overall results. She might not be Brienne the Beauty but she didn’t look like Brienne the Beast.

“How do you feel now?” Jaime asked, eyes trying to catch hers. She looked away from his reflection with another blush. She didn’t want him to know how she’d caught him staring. She wasn’t ready for that conversation.

Brienne had never considered herself worthy of admiration in a sexual manner before. When she had pessimistically considered what she could expect from a future mate she usually pictured a tall, non-conventionally attractive man. He would have to have some obvious physical flaw to be comfortable dating her. Perhaps he’d be overweight or particularly scrawny. It didn’t matter to her if she needed to protect him. What was the point in being fit if you couldn’t use your strength to look after others? Chivalry was an inherent part of her base nature, regardless of gender.

Brienne had assumed this man, whoever he might be, would be attracted to her enough that he could love her mind and accept her body. She didn’t expect him to lust after her physically, per say. 

She had never pictured herself as the subject of the type of stare Jaime had just given her. And she had never, ever, presumed that such a look could come from Lannister, the embodiment of a rich, sassy, perfectly tanned Greek god. He was the kind of man that pretty much the entire college cheer squad wanted to bang. She could see it in their eyes at every soccer game. Girls certainly weren’t subtle around him. And damn him again for all of that, too. Especially how confident he seemed with all that attention. It was downright distracting.

“I do feel better,” she admitted. “Passable.”

“Passable?” he echoed. “That’s it? That’s your big ego-boosting analysis?”

She rolled her eyes. “Some of us don’t have a lot of experience standing around romancing our own reflections, Lannister.”

“Really?” he laughed. “Well then, allow the master to give you a little help.” Brienne wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what Jaime Lannister considered to be the ego-boosting aspects of her body, but didn’t give her time to protest.

“Your feet are long,” he began, “like a runners. They must be advantageous. Your ankles are daintier than I ever realized. Seriously, can you balance alright on those? They look like you stole them off Kate Moss. If you ever decide to get a tattoo, it should be right there, above your anklebone. It’ll look great when you begin your foot-modeling career.” 

She laughed a little, and even without looking she could feel his light-hearted grin. She knew his complements were over-the-top, but she wasn’t above enjoying a pretty man attempting to say nice things about her. It wasn’t like this was an opportunity she was likely to ever have again. At least off the field. 

Brienne had heard perfuse praise pouring from Jaime’s lips plenty of times after she’d stolen the ball away from the opposition, allowing him to score. But that was in the heat of the moment, on the field. That was about her talent and control, things she had worked hard for and earned. This time he was complimenting things he had no reason to, outcomes she had no control over. No amount of practice could change her bone structure. No one had ever flattered her over something she considered to be a flaw before.

“Your calves are so lean and so tight that I bet if you started running right now you’d never stop. No wonder you’re brilliant on the field, with supports like those holding you up. I wonder if you’re faster than me. We may need to test that one day. 

But, moving on. I think your knees are a good match to your body. They’re flat, and a good size. Not knobby like some of the ones you see around these days.”

She scoffed good-naturedly at that. “I’m sure you’ve investigated more women’s legs than I have, Lannister.”

“Not as many as you might think,” he said, before devoting himself again to his task. “Your upper thighs are quite impressive. They must be good for running and … riding, and whatnot.”

“I wouldn’t know,” she said, “I’ve never ridden anything before.” This time his face turned a little pink, but she couldn’t figure out why. He didn’t give her time to ask.

“I like that your legs have freckles too. I think I even have a favorite freckle on them. It’s this one, here.” She was so surprised by him reaching one long-fingered hand out to touch her inner thigh that her fight-or-flight instinct went straight past defensive maneuvers and into deer-in-headlights mode. She stood, completely frozen, as Jaime let his fingers linger barely eight inches beneath the juncture of her thighs. 

“Although this one is pretty cute too,” he added, trailing his hand up and over to her outer leg, this time coming to rest close to the start of her panties, by the very cusp of her bottom.

“Your ass, well, it’s definitely toned. I can tell how hard you exercise but it still has the smallest bit of curve. Be careful with that one – don’t work your whole ass off or there won’t be enough left to cup. They’re just about the perfect size for a marauding hand as-is.” Fortunately, he didn’t test this theory so she did not have to respond by punching him soundly in the face. He kept going, although she caught his eyes resting on her bottom for a few seconds longer than strictly necessary. “This lace is the color of your eyes. Did you realize that when you bought it? I like the symmetry.” 

“And I like your little waist,” he continued, dragging his fingers lightly up her side, over the slight curve of her hips and letting his thumb rest against the small of her back. “There’s something about that spot, this little curve, that’s so undeniably feminine. It’s actually rivaling your ballerina ankles as my favorite spot so far.”

He ran his thumb slowly up and down, creating the tiniest friction that made her arch her back in anticipation. That touch felt like the opening notes to a symphony she’d only ever heard in a dream. As he started to talk again he moved his hand away, this time to walk his pointer and middle finger up along her spine.

“I’m not sure if it’s fair for me to say anything about this little… dressing.” She felt his fingers toy at the bottom of the bra behind her back. “It was a good choice, fashion-wise. Different. It even has extra hooks in the back. It’s like you’re asking a man to take his time. And for you, well, I hope he does.” He did not allow her time to process any of that before working his way back around to the front of her body. His hand moved in front of her but purposefully did not touch any of the aforementioned lacy covered bits. Another smart choice, she thought.

“I have always had a thing for clavicles. There’s just something about how they’re strong yet slim. It’s a pleasing combination. Yours are no exception. I like your little hollow… here.” He pressed one finger to the dip at the base of her throat, right between her collarbones. Another inch higher and he would’ve felt the beat of her rapid-fire pulse. 

His body was close enough now she could smell him easily. It was a mix of soaps and shampoos and the human essence of skin. He smelled of forest and fresh pine mixed with something dark and a little spicy. She looked down and bit her lip to stop herself from imagining what it would be like to turn around and face him right now. He was teasing her. This was only a game. She couldn’t let herself read into it.

His right hand gently pushed her curls to the side so that his left could hold them all up and out of the way. With her hair restrained like that she found herself tilting her head to the left and baring her neck to him almost instinctually. 

That was when Jaime Lannister let out a low, predatory groan. Brienne’s eyes darted up to his in the mirror. Maybe this wasn’t a game.

He was close enough that she could feel his breath on her neck. His eyes were even darker, pupils blown out and moist lips parted. He looked different than she’d ever seen him. This wasn’t celebratory Jaime, coach Jaime, sassy Jaime or even drunk Jaime. If she had to label it now she’d say this was aroused Jaime, a face she had certainly never witnessed up close.

“Oh gods, Brienne, please–” he begged, voice cracking over the words. “Can I please… touch?” 

She tore her eyes away from his but didn’t move another muscle in her body. Jaime Lannister was asking for permission to touch her. She closed her eyes, imagining what it would be like to touch him. A thousand other girls had done this with a thousand other men at this very school. Why should she deny herself?

“Yes,” she said, voice loud and clear and totally unconnected to any reasonable thought process. His lips were on her skin before her eyes could fully open. It was strange to think that the sensation of lips on neck could be so damn invigorating. His perusal was soft and sweet at first, pressing chaste kisses along her neck. A short sigh escaped her lips. Emboldened, he gave her the tiniest nip beneath her ear. She gasped. He chuckled, breath splaying out across her shoulder.

“Do you like this?” he asked between kisses.

“Yes,” she sighed again, reaching her hand up and back to knot it in his perfect hair. He let out another growl of satisfaction, his left hand still holding back her hair as his right began to rub up and down her arm.

She almost jumped when she felt his teeth on her earlobe. He grasped it carefully in his mouth, gently licking, pulling, and sucking on the skin. She squeezed her hand in his hair to let him feel her approval this time. After a moment he moved back to her neck, holding at the base below her chin to lavish her with more kisses and quick nips. 

She felt wobbly, like her knees might give out. She felt like she could collapse into a Victorian era swoon at any moment. Damn Jaime Lannister and his magic mouth. 

He detached himself from the right side of her neck and was moving over to ravish the left when she interrupted his actions by turning around. This conversation had ceased to be between her and the mirror sometime ago; plus, with her current instability it helped to have his chiseled arms to hold on to. Once he realized what she was doing, he seemed only too happy to oblige, nuzzling his face into the left side of her neck and giving it the same attention that he had just finished giving the right.

Of course Jaime Lannister couldn’t shut up completely, even in the throws of passion, even when Brienne herself could barely mutter a coherent word.

“Tarth… Oh, Brienne. Your neck is perfect. Not some stupid little swan thing. It’s real and it’s full. Perfect for this. Mhmm this might actually be my favorite freckle,” he mumbled, nipping at the curve of her neck. It felt like his lips had roamed everywhere from her ear to her collarbone. She had to hand it to him – his ability to concentrate while multitasking was impressive.

“And… my face?” Brienne gasped, “You’ve never cared for it before now. I don’t think a set of new underwear is going to change that.”

Jaime froze, pressing one last kiss to the bottom of her chin before stepping back to inspect. He still kept a propriety hand upon her back, just as she left both of hers perched on his shoulders. “You’re wrong,” he said. “I have always thought you had the most beautiful eyes. Full, clear, the color of sea glass. And always honest. Even when the truth will hurt you to admit, you are sincere to a fault, Brienne. Your eyes give you away. To risk paraphrasing Mr. Darcy, and therefore admit I did not sleep through that entire semester of Brit Lit, you have fine eyes, Miss Tarth. Very fine indeed.” 

At this latest extravagance, Brienne couldn’t help but roll her “fine eyes” at him again. Mr. Darcy indeed! If she’d been asked her any other day, she would have said Jaime Lannister was George Wickham incarnate. Having seen this side of him, she wasn’t sure that that was fair anymore. But he certainly wasn’t Austen’s silent, taciturn hero either.

“You’re also wrong about the underwear,” he continued, smiling a little at her cheeky responses. “That underwear makes you blush, your blush makes me ravish you and my ravishing makes you blush even more. Both your eyes and cheeks are even more improved through the whole process. It’s quite attractive – something about all the extra color. It’s an art I have yet to perfect, but am perfectly happy to continue practicing.”

They were eye to eye now, facing each other in actuality. His personality was so big, Brienne often found herself forgetting that she was in fact an inch taller than him. Here and now it was evident, but she didn’t particularly care. She liked that he had to lean up a fraction to reach her.

His eyes darted between her eyes and her lips. She was ready.

“Prove it,” she whispered in his sudden silence. “If you want to practice, go ahead.”

His mouth twitched but his eyes narrowed in on her lips again. “I used to think you were so meek, Brienne. Never heard you talk unless spoken to, never could’ve imagined you were so bossy under-“

She closed the gap with her lips, cutting short his teasing tirade. It was only after a few moments of processing that Brienne realized this meant she had essentially stolen her own first kiss. What a bizarre situation. But then Jaime’s mouth was opening a sliver and right after she could feel that devilish tongue of his flit across her bottom lip, requesting access.

Brienne put a large hand to Jaime’s chest and pushed. He broke the kiss easily, his body falling away from hers. She stepped forward, forcing him to back up more. He looked befuddled, stumbling until the backs of his legs hit her extra-long twin sized bed. Down he fell, until his butt was firmly planted on the bed, hands behind him to balance for support as he stared up at her. His perfect hair was a complete mess and his green eyes were full of longing. She understood exactly why the other girls were wild for him. He’d never seemed more attractive than he was right now, in her thrall.

“Quiet, giant Brienne. I’m sure you’ve thought plenty of things about me, Lannister,” she said, leaning in to hover over him. Maybe it was the escalation of the situation, or else that she knew for a fact he liked her in this bra, but for once in her life she used cleavage to her advantage when staring him down. Her breasts were closer in level to his face anyway, and she liked the way he gaped at them.

“Nothing like what I’ll be thinking from now on,” he acknowledge, licking his lips. His gaze alternated between her face and her chest, seemingly content with either prize. Yet he was waiting. Jaime clearly had a voracious sexual appetite, but Brienne was beginning to suspect that the captain of the team liked being dominated off the field. He certainly made no protest when she stepped into the circle of his legs and leaned down to take his face in her hands.

Their kiss this time spanned ages. When she couldn’t stand bent over anymore, she made as if to move away and rearrange. He let out a low, pathetic noise of refusal, like a child denied a favorite toy. Then he reached up with his left hand to place it firmly on her ass. Fifteen minutes ago, that intrusion would’ve made her scream. Now, she followed the pull of his hand obediently, allowing him to help reorganize her limbs until she was straddling his lap, her weight distributed between him and the bed.

Their kissing had evolved to open-mouthed rather fast. It was like a dance between them, tongues moving, touching and pulling away. There was a rhythm to it that she could understand. It was almost instinctual.

Then came the haze. Sensory details were coming at her too quickly. Smooth, talented hands here brushing over her, touching and squeezing and caressing. Their lips were never more than an inch from each other’s but suddenly she was lying on her back on the bed and he was resting on his elbows above her.

“Is this alright?” he whispered.

She nodded, hands pulling up the bottom of his T-shirt. He pulled away long enough to fling the garment in the general direction of the rest of her clothes but then he was back again, body warming hers. The only noise was the slip of lips on skin and the creak of bedsprings, interspersed with happy little moans. They moved together like that for a long time. Brienne had never felt more loose or languid. Or beautiful.

“Hey, Tarth!” a loud voice boomed from the other side of the door, causing both Brienne and Jaime jump, “Have you seen Lannister? Practice starts in five and he’s not on the field.”

Brienne looked down at the man in question who was lying comfortably between her legs, frozen in the process of kissing his way up her stomach.

“How the fuck should I know where that lazy bastard’s gotten off to?” she yelled back, “I haven’t seen him all day. I’ll see you at practice, Seaworth.”

“Alright. See you there!” Davos called, unsuspecting, from behind the locked door. The lovers lay motionless until they heard his heavy footsteps retreating down the hall.

Ten seconds later, Jaime burst into laughter. It started as a quiet chuckle that rose in volume and spirit until it filled the room. “Shh!” Brienne sniggered, “Someone’ll hear you!”

“Let them!” he commanded, hand slapping the mattress authoritatively. “I’m not ashamed of this, Brienne.”

“I’m not either,” she muttered. He smiled at her, pressing a gentle kiss right above her bellybutton. 

“Good,” he said, “because one day, I just might convince you to be seen in public with me, Brienne Tarth. And you’ll fidget and whine, but I’ll find some way to repay you.” She raised an eyebrow at him as he slowly began to climb up her body, pressing kisses every so often along her skin until they were once again face to face. “I know that I’m kind of a shit person, but I do care about you, Bri. And I can try to be better. For you. If you want.”

“I don’t want you to do it for me,” she said, leaning forward to kiss his nose, “but if you wanted to change for yourself, I wouldn’t protest. You are your own man, as anyone with eyes can see. Just promise to stay a little wicked – if you became an angel now I wouldn’t recognize you.”

“Deal.” Jaime winked at her, eyes sparkling, before pressing a quick kiss to her lips and heaving his body upwards. He searched through the small pile of clothes he had created sometime earlier. He slipped his own shirt over his head in one fluid motion before holding Brienne’s long-discarded garments out to her in silent question. She nodded and he tossed her forgotten sweatpants and T-shirt her way. With the amount of heat she generated running drills, the jacket was no longer necessary. 

“I’ll see you at practice,” she said curtly, pulling her shirt over her head.

“That’s it?” he laughed, “Sure you’re not ready to tell them all yet?”

“Get out!” she rolled her eyes. He grinned, crouching down to retie his shoes. They must have come off sometime before the bed incident, although she hadn’t noticed when. His hair was still horribly mussed from her fingers running through it but he didn’t seem to mind.

She’d be ready to let others know one day, maybe. But she and Jaime should figure out what this was on their own before getting other people involved. I mean, they just went from team captain and star defense to… boyfriend and girlfriend? Just the terms made her want to shudder. They were two adults in a consensual sexual relationship – with maybe a little romance to come. And even thinking that made her blush. 

“We’re warming up for the championships, Jaime. We don’t need gossip distracting anyone.” She pulled her workout pants on with her back to him, unsure she could manage to move under that gaze. After she finished, Brienne turned back to look at him, fully clothed for the first time since this began. She was pleased to find his gaze just as lust-filled as when she was practically naked. It seemed they had mutually flipped a switch in their relationship, from “frenemies” to “teasing lovers,” or some such. There was no going back, for either of them.

“Fair enough,” he agreed, coughing a little to clear his voice, “But think about it. I swear I wont tell them until you’re ready, it’s just… I’m ready when you are. You know I don’t do things halfway.”

“Yes, I certainly do,” she said, walking back towards him. Brienne had, on occasion, wondered what it would be like to be one of those girls who could pull off the heavy-lidded, hip-swaying type of entrances. She would never know first hand. Even now, her post-make out walk was as heavy and athletic as ever. She didn’t even attempt heavy-lidded. As Jaime had said, all her eyes could show was honesty. She would have to leave the suggestive looks to him. 

He still spread his arms invitingly, and then they were kissing again. Brienne found herself sighing against those warm, engaging lips. It was a good feeling. Solid. Matched. When they broke apart this time, he pressed his forehead to hers before saying, “I’ve got to get to the field or they’re going to come looking for me again, the damn boy scouts.”

Brienne laughed, reluctantly pushing herself out of the circle of his arms and pointing one hand towards the door. “Be gone, scoundrel! Your soldiers await!” she declared in her most authoritative tone.

With a mock salute, he was out the door. “I expect you to be on time, Tarth!” he called back over one shoulder before the oak could slam shut behind him.

Once she was finally dressed and alone again, Brienne let out a shaky breath, reaching one hand up to cover the stupid grin that was taking over her face. Jaime Lannister! Dear god. There were so many ways this could end and she still wasn’t even sure how it started.

Brienne grabbed her hairbrush off her nightstand, unrolling a scrunchy from its base, and wandered over to her mirror to try to make sense of what was sure to be a rat’s nest of blonde curls. Fortunately, her hair was still the tiniest bit wet and malleable. She was humming softly as she pushed her hair into its’ usual high bun when she made eye contact with the mirror. 

Her brush made a thwack as its plastic handle smacked against the floor. “Lannister!” she yelled, staring at the row of fresh red marks covering her reflection’s neck. You’d have to be blind not to know exactly what they were from. So much for telling them later – even bashful young Pod would be able to guess now. If the marks were only on Jaime, and now that she thought about it, she’d probably left a few, the team wouldn’t comment much. But the whole group would be inordinately interested in Brienne Tarth’s little love bites. Nosey bastards. 

As she glared at her reflection, twisting her lips in ire, Brienne could have sworn she heard a familiar, hearty laugh floating up and in through her second story window. Her traitorous mouth responded with that dopey grin. 

“Lannister,” she whispered in an entirely different tone. Oh well. Now would have to be as good a time as any. They’d figure the rest out as they went along. 

Brienne straightened her shoulders, grabbed her keys off the hook, and walked out the door. Her lacy underwear rubbed casually against her workout clothes as she jogged down the stairs and outside to where he was waiting for her.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This was my first time writing anything like this, in length or content, and first time writing about Brienne/Jaime so I hope it turned out alright. Any mistakes are my own.


End file.
